Saturday, 5 May 2018

THE ROOF OF THE WORLD

Welsh slate roofed the world.

This was no empty claim in the nineteenth century.  Look at rows of Victorian terraces and villas in most of our major cities and you will see them roofed with dark purplish-grey slate from North Wales. 

Yesterday evening I went to Blaenau Ffestiniog.  The pavements are slate, the buildings are slate, the roofs are slate.  Blaenau's fortune and decline were built on slate and the huge screes surrounding the town are the evidence.  Now the narrow gauge railway which once took slate to the harbour at Porthmadog is a major tourist attraction (run by paid staff and volunteer enthusiasts).  

But I was in the town for a book launch at Yr Hen Bost, a gem of a little indie bookshop, run by Elin. There are two floors of new and second hand books: books in Welsh, books in English, children's books, local books, novels, poetry and more.  So few bookshops stock poetry magazines these days so it was good to see the latest issue of Poetry Wales for sale.

Blaenau (or more accurately nearby Tan y Grisiau) is also the home of Cinnamon Press, which publishes some fine poetry and fiction, as well as Envoi poetry magazine.  I was at Yr Hen Bost for a double Cinnamon book launch.  There were over 30 people squeezed into the small downstairs room of the bookshop.  It was good to meet Cinnamon's proprietor, Jan Fortune, who introduced the two writers.  Adam Craig read from his novel In Dreams the Minotaur Appears Last.  The first long-sentence extract was a tour de force of stream of consciousness style writing while the second extract was a deliciously satirical description of a party in Paris in the 1970s.  

Michelle Angharad Pashley read from the prologue of her crime novel The Remains of the Dead.  The prologue had an edge which was almost unbearable - the kind of writing where you are 
frightened to read on but feel you have to in order to find some kind of explanation.  The second extract she gave us was about the discovery of a body which must have been the one buried in the prologue . . .

I had time to explore the streets of Blaenau Ffestiniog and discovered that the town has a rich literary history, now celebrated in the poetry, prose and sayings carved into pieces of slate.  There is information about writers who came from the town, including Gwyn Thomas, the National Poet of Wales (2006-8).

I stayed overnight and came back this morning on the train on the Conwy Valley line (another railway that had its origins in carrying slate).  The Saturday morning train was crowded with young teenagers on a day out, locals off to the shops at Llandudno and a few tourists.  The mist hung over the mountains surrounding Blaenau as we left and I took out my book to read.  The train plunged through the Ffestiniog Tunnel and emerged into brilliant sunshine in the high valley.  I closed my book.  The upland birches were tinged with green, there were splashes of bright yellow gorse, Dolwyyddelan Castle looked down from its imposing vantage point.  The clear blue sky was reflected in the water of the river.  As the train slowly made its way down the steep gradient the valley widened and became the Conwy estuary with acolourful shelduck out on the mud flats.

At Llanrwst - a large modern building near to the line was inscribed Gwasg Carreg Gwalch, publishers of Welsh interest books in Welsh and English (and publishers of the book I hadn't read because the spring morning was so wonderful).

www.cinnamonpress.com
www.blaenauffestiniog.org 

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